


Flutter

by teh_gelfling



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Flutter

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

"Blue!" Jazz called out when he saw grey doorwings disappear around the corner. The gunner's helm poked back out into the corridor with an inquisitive look on the white faceplates. "Hey, mechlet, somethin' wrong? Didn' see ya in th' Rec Room playin' wi' everyone back there. Ya're always there."  
  
"Oh, Jazz. Hi." The smile on his face seemed a little forced, and his doorwings twitched in a gesture the saboteur couldn't interpret. "Yeah, I was there for a bit, but I got tired and now I'm heading for my bunk. I had a long day today, y'know?"  
  
Jazz's attention sharpened. "Blue, yer bunk is in the other direction. 'Less yer headin' for th' twins'."  
  
"Jazz...” the young one whined, wings still twitching. “I just wanna go get some recharge. Can we talk later?"  
  
A small frown turned Jazz's lips. "Blue, ya sure there's nothin' wrong?"  
  
"Of course there's something wrong, Jazz!" the young mech burst out. "I can't... I can't be in there with... with... Never-never mind. I'll see you later."  
  
Jazz was left standing at the intersection with a puzzled look as the Praxian pushed past him and all but fled down the corridor.  
  
***  
  
When Jazz walked into the Rec Room, Bluestreak was laughing hard at the twins' antics and his car on the TV screen swerved randomly in response to his lack of attention to the controls. This was the Bluestreak he was used to, not that almost angry mech he'd been yesterday.  
  
Almost angry, but not. Something had been bothering him, eating at him. His response to Jazz had seemed angry at the time, but after some thought, it was more likely simple frustration. What had set him off, though? Couldn't 'be in there with...' what?  
  
The black and white gathered his energon ration and sat near to the group of younger mechs. He returned the cheerful greetings when he was noticed, and though Bluestreak's welcome was as chipper as ever, something about it was different.  
  
Jazz prided himself on his ability to ferret out secrets, his ability to read all the mechs on the Ark with relative ease. So naturally, this inexplicable quality to the acknowledgement was perplexing. Of all of the mechs in this crashed ship they now called home, Bluestreak was usually the one everybody could read. He wore his spark on his pauldron. Even when the little Datsun was trying to hide something, it always came out in the motions of his wings.  
  
Those same wings that set to fluttering just slightly when Bluestreak caught Jazz looking at him. It was almost...  
  
No. Don't even go down that path, Jazz. Prowler'd kill ya.  
  
He was saved from those thoughts by the arrival of several other mechs, including his current casual lover, who all pushed nearby tables together with Jazz's and struck up a lively conversation.  
  
It was some time later when Jazz realised that Bluestreak had once again abandoned the room.  
  
***  
  
This was getting ridiculous. For the past two months Bluestreak had been avoiding him without it really seeming that he was. If Jazz walked into the Rec Room, then Blue was just leaving. Their shifts were opposite now, as well, and Jazz was well aware that Bluestreak had to have requested his shift be changed.  
  
Prowl had begun giving him the evil optic. And even more evil tasks: reports. Mountains of them. When asked about it, all the SIC would say was, "Talk to Bluestreak."  
  
Easier said than done. Their days off never coincided. Jazz was beginning to wonder if Bluestreak had somehow managed to either borrow or duplicate Mirage's electro disruptor. The grey mech was becoming more and more difficult to find.  
  
It couldn't last forever.  
  
He wouldn't let it.  
  
***  
  
"Bluestreak! Needa talk t' ya."  
  
Large blue optics looked innocently at the third in command. "Hi, Jazz. Whatcha need?" And there was that little flutter again.  
  
"Ya wanna explain ta me why Prowler's givin' me his scutwork?" Keep the scowl off yer face, Jazz.  
  
"I don't know. Maybe you should ask him? I mean, I'm not Prowl, so I can't speak for him and all..." Flutter, flutter.  
  
"Already did. He tol' me ta talk ta _you._ So talk."  
  
Grey winglets drooped. "I don't know, Jazz. Honest."  
  
"Then ya wanna tell me why ya suddenly changed shifts? Avoid me?"  
  
Flutter-droop. "Not-not really. Please, Jazz, can I go?"  
  
"What did I do? Ya never done this before, mechlet. I miss ya talkin' at me."  
  
Optics flicked away and the grey helm ducked a little. "Nothing. You're fine, perfect, really. It's just... just... me."  
  
Jazz tilted his head, confused. "Blue, ya're not makin' much sense he-" And then there were soft lips on his.  
  
Oh.  
  
Couldn't be in there with... the flirting, the blatant innuendos. Jazz's lovers.  
  
Blue dropped back to his feet, blushing profusely, doorwings fluttering like mad. "Sorry," he whispered. "I-I couldn't help it. I'm sorry."  
  
Jazz stood there, still stunned, as Bluestreak disappeared into his quarters.  
  
***  
  
"Hey, sweetspark. C'n I talk ta ya?" Jazz asked quietly into the grey audial.  
  
Blue sighed. "Jazz..."  
  
"Not here. I just wanna talk. I ain't mad or nothin'." The Porsche grinned in his easy manner. "Wanna clear some things up, 'kay?"  
  
Baby blue optics glanced around the Rec Room, noting that no one was really paying any attention to them. He sighed again and levered himself off the sofa. "Okay, where did you want to talk?" There seemed to be a note of sadness in his voice.  
  
Jazz's spark twinged. "Got any places ya feel comfortable 'sides your quarters? I jus' didn't wanna talk in there. Don' want anythin' gettin' out that ya don't want out. Wouldn' do that to ya."  
  
The answer was immediate and expected. "Prowl's. Not his quarters! I meant his office. I mean, I've been in his quarters and they're nice and all, but I don't think he'd want anyone in there unless he was there and I'm pretty sure he's not, he's on duty right now, I think. And-and Prowl knows, anyway..." He trailed off, obviously hoping the other wouldn't laugh at his suggestion.  
  
Jazz did chuckle, but not out of malice, and quickly commed the tactician to make sure he wasn't working on anything critical at the time.  
  
***  
  
Prowl studiously ignored them as they settled in, though he had given Jazz the prickly optic when they first showed up. His greeting to Bluestreak had been very affectionate, pressing their chevrons together with a warm smile.  
  
Jazz had noticed that Prowl would look up at them briefly every so often, then go back to his datawork. Just making sure nothing was amiss, it seemed. He was beginning to wonder if the mech had turned his audials off; it wouldn't be out of character for the tactician to do that while working, especially if there was some kind of distraction nearby.  
  
Poor Blue sat on the edge of his seat, clearly tensed yet with drooping doorwings. He was obviously braced to be rejected and fidgeted restlessly, picking at some invisible thing in the finger joints of one hand.  
  
It had been silent long enough.  
  
"Blue," Jazz started, then winced when the kid jumped. Prowl was half out of his seat before the gunner waved him down, clutching the dark plating over his spark.  
  
"Sorry, Kiddo. Didn' mean ta startle ya."  
  
"Jazz, please... please don't call me that? I'm not a youngling any more, or even a mechling, it just... I don't like it," the silver mech murmured. "I... I'm sorry I kissed you, I won't do it again, I promise. I'll leave you alone, and things will go back to the way they were, right? It was better then, before that and before... well, you know."  
  
Jazz's optic ridges leapt behind his visor. The gunner's words were not what he was expecting to hear, although with his current emotional state, Jazz shouldn't have been surprised. Bluestreak was very good at taking blame onto himself, even if it was unjustified.  
  
"A'right, if it bothers ya so much, I won't call ya that. An' don't 'pologise. I'd rather know than have ya runnin' away from me all th' time. But I'll tell ya, ain't nothin' goin' back ta the way it was."  
  
The little Praxian deflated. "I didn't think so, but I was hoping... maybe we could just forget anything happened. You'd forget I kissed you and I'd forget that I love you and I get so jealous when other mechs flirt with you or-or grope you and you just _let_ them. Just laugh and kiss them and sometimes grope them back and tease them and I wish it was me and then I remember that it's not me and it'll never be me because I'm that kid from Praxus, the one with all the issues, the one who can't keep his yap shut and just goes on and on and on and never shuts up even if I'm told to and and... I just want to forget, Jazz! I don't want to look at you any more and hurt in my spark. I don't want to imagine hurting other Autobots, not like killing them or anything, just making them hurt like I do when they touch you. And I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just, I don't want to put all this on you, but I can't keep it in any more either because it's tearing me up inside that I love you and I can't have you and you- Mmph!"  
  
Jazz could feel the heat of Prowl's glare on his plating but tuned the mech out, focussed solely on calming the sniper down. Trying to interrupt the flow of words had proved fruitless, so he did the only thing he could think of that might stem the flood.  
  
He kissed him.  
  
The effect was immediate. Baby blue optics went almost comically wide, flaring bright. Silver-grey doorwings snapped straight up into a vee, held so tightly they vibrated. But best of all, he stopped talking.  
  
Actually, it was more like he stopped reaming himself verbally, because Jazz usually didn't mind when Bluestreak talked. He stayed quiet when Jazz backed away and returned to his seat.  
  
"Blue, baby, ya gotta stop holdin' stuff like that in. It'll eat ya up like a case of cosmic rust. Didya ever think about jus' tellin' me? Ya honestly think I'd let ya hurt like this if I knew?" The black helm turned to the other mech in the room before he could speak. "And you hush, Prowler. Don' wanna hear it. Ya can put your two cents in when we're all done talkin'."  
  
Prowl looked a bit disgruntled, but settled back into his chair.  
  
Blue twitched. "But, Jazz... I didn't know _how_ to tell you. I talk all the time about everything and anything and I couldn't find the words to tell you how I feel. I'm not sure there are any."  
  
The Porsche smiled. "S'all water under the bridge, now, anyway. Now I know an' ya don't have to worry about findin' th' words any more, right?"  
  
"But..." the gunner murmured, "but what now? I mean, you just kissed me, but I'm pretty sure it was just to stop me from talking, but what if it wasn't and you might like me back and there might actually be some kind of future in this, but then I'm so young and all fragged up in the processors and I think why would anyone want me?"  
  
"Primus, Blue! Yeah, that kiss did get ya t' quiet down, but I kissed ya 'cause I wanted to. Y'ain't as broken as ya seem ta think ya are. Yeah, you're young, but ya've been through more'n a lotta mechs can say. An' ya ain't really all that messed up. Ya don' want me callin' ya kiddo any more an' I won't. But, babe, ya gotta stop beatin' yourself up over things ya can't control." Jazz sighed and held out his arm, gesturing for the younger mech to come snuggle in.  
  
Bluestreak's wings perked a tiny bit and his optics brightened, but the movement toward Jazz was aborted almost before it had begun. "I... I don't... Jazz, I don't want you playing with me. I'm being serious. If you're not interested in me like that, not even a little, not even maybe, just tell me. Please. I'd really... really rather know now and hurt and get over it than be strung along and find out later and hurt a lot more. I'm a big mech. Well, not as big as like Ironhide or Optimus or even you or Prowl, but... I can take it. Really, I can. Nobody ever takes me seriously. Especially when I'm trying to be serious. Except Prowl."  
  
The words hit the saboteur like a slap in the face. His arm dropped and he opened his mouth to protest, but had to snap it shut again when the words died in his vocaliser. It was true. "I'm sorry. Really, Blue, I am so sorry. I have no excuse, but I'll try harder and I hope ya can forgive me."  
  
The grey mech sighed. "There's really nothing to forgive, Jazz. It's not like you were the only one. And I can't ever hold a grudge against you, you know that.”  
  
Jazz grinned. “I know. Now, ya gonna come over here an' snuggle so's we can talk 'bout this 'thing' ya got f'r me, or ya jus' gonna sit there like a bump on a log?”  
  
And there was a silver Datsun at his side in an instant, pulling the black and white's arm around him and purring. Doorwings fluttered.  
  
Prowl gave Jazz an indulgent – and rather triumphant – look, pointedly turned to the other section of his desk where the computer terminal sat, and began typing away, completely ignoring them.  
  
Jazz looked back down at the Praxian half in his lap and smiled as he chattered on, sensor panels never still.  
  
_Flutter, flutter._  
  
Yeah, he'd give this a chance.


End file.
